Youthful Indiscretion
by Lira is a Girl's Name
Summary: It can be assumed that as Worth is a masochist as an adult, he was likely so inclined in his youth. And youth is always the best time for experimentation. Involves a cactus. Explicit character study? May be disturbing; likely not actually funny.


AN: I think I should just refuse to explain this one. It's Worth when he was a teenager, and we all know Worth is a twisted, messed up fuck. He's a masochist. He was likely still a masochist when he was a teenager. I warn you in advance that this is EXPLICIT and likely DISTURBING. I do not apologize for the things I may do to your brain. But I do apologize to Tessa Stone for the things I have done to her characters, seeing as Hanna is Not a Boy's Name is hers and not mine. No profit is being made and no offense was intended.

.

YOUTHFUL INDESCRETION

-by: Lira-

.

It was the middle of summer and Luce Worth had nothing to do. It would be his senior year of high school as soon as the month was over and Luce wasn't especially looking forward to a last round of high school classes. He had all his fucking college apps written up already, for chrissakes, and Luce was not in any way that sort of overachiever. He was merely fucking sick of living with his parents and ready to get the hell out of dodge.

Mont was busy with his summer job, and Luce's little sister was out with some of her little friends who Luce liked to smirk at, just because all the little girls would get in such a flutter. It was easier than high school girls, because once girls hit high school they pretended to have standards. Luce knew from personal experience that this was a huge fucking lie, and if it hadn't stopped being interesting a year and a half ago he would still be playing that game for shits and giggles.

It was still interesting to fuck with Mont's dates, though, because then Mont tried to punch his face in the next day and they both knew how much fun that was.

Luce's parents had vacated the house for the day as well, which meant Luce was lying flat on his stomach on the patio in his swim trunks. His mother would always ask him why a teenage boy felt the need to swim through gravel practically in his alltogether, in a scandalized tone of voice that made Luce's ears ache. The answer was because the bits of rock and glass strewn across the patio stones dug into Luce's flesh in an altogether pleasing manner when he was able to spread as much of his skin as possible directly on the paving. The alternate reason was that it was fucking roasting outside and this way Luce was the tiniest bit cooled off.

In the past month Luce's mother had also decided to try her hand at gardening, but with her loose understanding of watering requirements and the summer heat that had gone uncharacteristically poorly; most of her attempts were already dead. The patio was ringed with the pots that had once housed them, the last crisp brown leaves sticking out of the dirt speaking of what might have grown there previously. And then, in one corner, there was a last small pot whose occupant had not yet given up the ghost. Luce slid over to it on his stomach, the grit and the rocks he moved over scratching trails into his chest, belly, and legs.

After this Luce would have to go inside and put some fucking clothes on, so no one asked why he'd been beaten up by part of a cat.

When Luce reached the plant, he pulled himself into a cross-legged position and then pulled the plant closer. It was a great poofy shape, nearly a foot high, and covered in what looked like hair. Luce ran the palm of his hand over the top of it, and at first the sensation was just of fuzz, like swiping his hand over the head of someone with a crew cut. But as Luce continued, he realized some of the little hairs were lodging in the skin of his hand, and as he slid his hand further they would alternately stick deeper into his flesh or rip free in an entirely new and painful manner. Luce stopped for a moment out of sheer surprise, not having expected this.

It was a cactus, if Luce thought about it he realized it was a fucking cactus. The only reason it wasn't dead was likely the fact that it should only need to be watered once a month. It didn't even have any of those wicked spikes like on cacti Luce had seen in pictures once or twice. But as he prodded it gently with his fingertips, lodging more and more of the flexible spines in his own flesh, Luce was starting to have an idea or two about the usefulness of this particular species of cacti.

Luce still had the decency to glance around back and forth to see if someone had managed to creep up on him, but the yard was fenced and he was feeling pretty uninhibited. It took only a minute to shimmy out of his swim trunks, the bit of material idly tossed off to the side. Luce's hands then closed on the pot again, bringing the cactus close to his face while wearing an expression of manic glee.

For a moment he perched the pot on his knee, using one hand to steady it. The other hand closed around his dick, the vise hold he was used to securing his already hardening flesh. The joys of being a teenage boy; from zero to fuck in sixty seconds. Luce stroked himself a few times, but he could do that whenever he wanted. The novelty was in holding himself at the base so that he jutted out of the ring formed by thumb and forefinger, his free hand already edging the pot closer.

The edge of the cactus rubbed against the side of his length, and the sensation was like nothing other.

Luce imagined it was a little like taking a velvet glove and jerking himself, except after the first two passes with the velvet touch it started to stick, as if his flesh was providing some resistance. Luce could even see the little spines sticking out like tiny toothpicks rammed into his dick. The hand holding the pot was shaking all of a sudden, causing the cactus to plow into him with greater force. Luce gave a tiny yelp and bit his lip; oh fuck he was not expecting it to hurt that much. To hurt that good.

Luce forced himself to hold the pot away, used what willpower he could muster to stop grinding the plant into his dick. He ran his fingers gingerly down his length, and every time he bumped one of the spines he could feel the jolt of pain turned pleasure jabbing itself into his body. With the delicacy of fine motor skill he hoped would one day do him wonders as a surgeon, Luce yanked a single spine out of his dick with thumb and forefinger. The pain then was sharper, like ripping off a band-aid, except where the band-aid happened to have grafted itself to his flesh. Luce pulled out a few more spines, yank, yank, yank, delighting in the immediate and pleasingly cringe-worthy sensations.

After a bit of that, though, he had to go farther. Luce again grasped the base of his dick and tilted it upward, this time so that he would have perfect access at the head. He considered going light, just a brush of the side of the cactus at the most sensitive parts of his anatomy. But that didn't have enough appeal. His hand was shaking again and Luce knew that he wouldn't be able to be that careful, anyway. Instead his hand with the pot came down and down farther, grinding a whole patch of the spikes right into that satiny skin. He hadn't meant to do it, but one of the spines had poked right into his slit, and Luce yelped much louder in pained surprise.

Even then, he didn't stop, didn't cease grinding that bit of greenery like the best sex toy he had never thought to purchase. He was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, and was pretty sure he was going to explode orgasmically all over the cactus. His hips were canting up slightly, trying to rock into the questionable embrace of prickly spines as if it was a receptive human body. Fuck, fuck, this stupid fucking- Fuck!

Just as he had briefly envisioned, the cactus was now splattered with a curious speckling of white. For a crazy moment Luce imagined just leaving it there, waiting to see what preposterous planty explanation his mother found for its new condition. But if Luce somehow had to explain busting a nut on a cactus, he would be completely unable to ever live that down, or perhaps look his mother in the face again.

Instead Luce got the hose, screwing on the spray nozzle for watering plants. He gave himself a nice outdoor shower just for the fun of it, because it sure as hell beat the ones in a cubicle where he'd prefer if there was less grooming and more jerking off. And then he gave his new cactus friend a little shower, spritzing the damn thing until it looked as if it was clean, or at least no longer covered in jizz.

When Luce was done, the sorry, over-watered cactus just looked so pathetic that he couldn't leave it out there on the patio where the soaked stones were already halfway dry, like nothing had changed. Instead he squirmed back into his swim trunks and headed upstairs, setting the cactus on his desk by the window. He'd wait and see exactly how long it took his mother to even realize it was gone, and whenever she noticed it was in his possession, he'd explain that he wanted to try taking responsibility for another living being for a while. She'd eat that shit up.

After that Luce spent a good hour lying on his bed yanking spines out of his dick with a pair of tweezers, because he was fairly certain if he left those there they might become infected, or worse, gangrenous.


End file.
